Parkmont Poetry Festival Poems - 2009 - Parkmont School
Transcript of Parkmont Poetry Festival Poems - 2009 - Parkmont School
9251.100hML5.1.9
parkmont poetry festivalPoems by District of Columbia Students
Grades 6-12
SPONSORED BY PARKMONT SCHOOL, MAY 9, 2009
PREFACE
We are pleased to share with you in this booklet the poems of Washington, DC’s young writers. The Parkmont Poetry
Festival was founded in 1982 to recognize the literary gifts of young poets from our diverse schools and neighborhoods and to celebrate their common interest in poetry.
We received several hundreds of poems for this year’s Festival from students in grades 6 through 12 in the District’s public, private, and charter schools. Our judges have selected these 40 distinguished poems from the chorus of young voices expressing
their spirits and vitality through poetry.
ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 10, 2008 i
2009 POETRy AWARD WINNERSDavon Ford Get Your Elbow Off the Table ................................................ 1Julia Hiemstra Food ............................................................................... 2lamara Brooks My Name ...................................................................... 3Jennifer Omekam The Inside .................................................................. 4Devon Hudson Photo .............................................................................. 5noelle smith Running to Freedom .......................................................... 6Cheryl arnold Hurry! ............................................................................ 8khadijah rashad The Day That You Are Going to Have.......................... 9mia Jones Colors ................................................................................... 10Bernice Caldwell I Be ........................................................................ 12kameren morgan Free in Ruined Eternities (FIRE) .............................. 13Darvel suggs My Winter Experience ...................................................... 14aaron landy Murderers’ Row ............................................................... 15kweku sumbry Darkness ..................................................................... 16ava reuss Ladybug .............................................................................. 17shawntay kent Poetic Autobiography ................................................... 18melissa Q. Wood Today ....................................................................... 19kirk murphy From One to Another ........................................................ 20Christian Burke Upside Down .............................................................. 21khalil Jones Random ............................................................................ 22nichell kee Happy New Year ................................................................ 23antonia madian Lost ............................................................................ 24Dasha Bell Flower Poem About Pink ...................................................... 25sequan Wilson Unforgettable ............................................................... 26monae smith I am ................................................................................ 27Colin Clarke Confusion Within .............................................................. 28Damon kee I Am Not For School ......................................................... 30Gabriela Farina Swimming in the Rain ................................................. 31Jonathan korns The Green House ......................................................... 32lesa lee Lemon Yellow Passion Flower .................................................. 34renita Williams The Time Is Right to Make ......................................... 35Duncan Taylor Merry-Go-Round .......................................................... 36kiana murphy Sleeveless Imagination .................................................. 37Jeremiah Quarles The Rubberband on my Wrist ................................... 39Olivia Patch Autumn............................................................................ 40marcus Barnes His son ......................................................................... 41David Heath Revelation ........................................................................ 42sebastian swain To Reciprocate Love .................................................. 43steven reed The True Definition of a Man ............................................. 46Cole Feinberg Anatomy and Music ........................................................ 47
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ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 9, 2009 1
GET yOUR ELBOW OFF THE TABLE
i was raised by get your elbow
off the table, don’t never say you’re
not able, get dat money real faithful
type of family.
always on my back, never let me
slack, they always stay packed
Do anything for me, love me to the
max type family.
Get your butt in this house
for i tear you up. always
drinking out the juice cup
type family.
Tore up off the goose
put a lil cranberry into it
give it a boost, come over
here and give Grandma a
smooch type family.
Hand me the remote right
here beside me, move out of
the way of the Tv i can’t see
type family.
Come here boy, then smack
me in my head, i know you
ain’t wet your bed, even though
i did, i’d tell her it’s water instead
type family.
you better do your homework
beat with the belt had me crying
like water type family.
Davon Ford, Grade 8 Charles Hart Middle School
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my NAmE
in the morning, my name feels deadly
in the afternoon, my name feels real
Outside, my name feels loud
at the end of school, my name feels happy
The next day, my name feels good
Going to school, my name feels magic.
When my friends call me,
when i write my name,
it feels secret.
my name feels funny
when i make my friends laugh.
my name feels like music
When people say it.
Lamara Brooks, Grade 6 Charles Hart Middle School
FOOD
a piece of limp, faded, yellow-colored pasta, like an old
person’s hair.
an oval-shaped, bright orange, delicious mango, like a nerf
football.
a chunk of strong bittersweet-smelling, whitish-brown garlic,
like a brand-new book waiting to be read, page to page.
a sheet of fresh, creme-colored fillo dough, like a sheet of
paper, blank and unused.
a triangular piece of dough-covered cherry pie, like a balloon
waiting to be popped.
Julia Hiemstra, Grade 6Horace Mann Elementary School
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PHOTO
Picture you in the background
and me in the front
eyes older than a wooden table
Face looks like a tinted mask
Devon Hudson, Grade 8 Charles Hart Middle School
THE INSIDE
Who are you looking at? are you staring at me? Don’t you
have somewhere else to be? Do not stare too long or you will
see what is really inside of me. all the pain regret and sorrow
that is bottled up inside. all my feelings are ready to burst
out. if i do not say something soon someone’s feelings will
be hurt. i have feelings but still i do not pout. i might scream
and shout but that only means you better get out. Wham!
Watch out because here i come with my independent self the
only thing wrong is that you are already there.
Jennifer Omekam, Grade 6Howard University Middle School of Mathematics and Science
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running left and
no say in what we want.
running right
as if we have no voice to speak.
a young mother wanting a way out.
Working in the house, helping with the kids,
cooking and cleaning.
The young mother views the white children
receiving their education.
Wishing that her daughter could do the same.
running left and running right.
every time the mother looks into the child’s eyes,
she can see the pain and confusion in the child’s soul.
The mother makes a decision to head north,
but only makes it halfway from hell.
Grabbed by a rope, bags thrown over the child and the
mother’s body
as if trying to round up cattle.
instead of even going back home, she and her daughter
are carried to an unfamiliar town.RUNNING
Noelle Smith, Grade 8 Parkmont School
RUNNING TO FREEDOm
Through the night.
sounds of men chattering, running of feet,
and hounds howling.
so much darkness as if it was swallowing the night.
running left and right.
The only light coming from stars and lamps of racist men.
Trying to make it north as quickly as possible.
Hoping for a new life filled with upcoming changes.
Will it be possible or will we just be rallied
like animals beaten and forced to work?
Working in the house or in the field,
still not able to learn or read.
Beaten all alike, whether dark or light.
running left and running right.
raped, abused, or neglected.
The lost touch of a family bond.
People being sold as if livestock.
The screams of stomachs begging for food
or hearts singing for freedom.
Wondering when the day will come when we all rise.
They try to put fear in us so we can’t run away
or brainwash us as if there is no other way.
running left and running right.
Only to be stopped by a group of white men
who dragged us back to their destination.
ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 9, 20098 ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 9, 2009 9
THE DAy THAT yOU ARE GOING TO HAVE
Forget the pool
Forget the wind
and don’t forget
To pay your rent
it’s a holiday, have
some joy, forget
about the squeak
Just picture food
inside your head
Don’t forget to
toss the salad
Don’t forget about
Pie crust, just
Picture the moon
light and enjoy
the bread and picture
the plate you’re
Going to have
Khadijah Rashad, Grade 6Charles Hart Middle School
HURRy!
Hurry!
Wake up,
Get dressed,
Hurry you’ll be late.
Hurrying is something
i absolutely hate.
Find your hat,
Brush the cat,
Don’t drag your feet
you’ve got to hurry.
Hurry scurry Worry Flurry.
Hurrying is something
i absolutely hate.
Cheryl Arnold, Grade 6 Horace Mann Elementary School
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i’m going
Colors
Where would i be without
Colors
mothers fathers sisters brothers
all four of my favorite
Colors
Mia Jones, Grade 8Meridian Public Charter School
COLORS
Colors
Colors that flow
Colors
Don’t you know how they grow?
Through the vines in between
The lines
Flowing like water, sea’s
Oceans
Flowers that grow for
Hours
some are sweet some
smell sour
Their smell elevates through
The wind
again and
again
Colors Brighten up your day
Colors
Free to come
Free to stay
i say hey hey
How
They look
BeaUTiFUl
How they brighten up the pathway
so i can
see the way
The way
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FREE IN RUINED ETERNITIES (FIRE)
kid with the tears like waterfalls,
free on an autumn’s day.
Free to do whatever he wants,
free to roam and play.
He hides his anger,
under that happy face.
But still feels pain,
from that terrible day.
The fire burns.
as a baby,
he never saw his parents.
He still remembers to this day,
every now and then he gives a frown.
He tries to forget,
but it keeps coming back.
He calms himself, by looking at the clouds.
The flame still burns,
as white as the hottest star.
maybe one day,
he will join his parents in that heavenly star.
Kameren Morgan, Grade 6Howard University Middle School of Mathematics and Science
I BE
i be of DC
i be a block from eastover
i be having glitter in my hair
i be goofy all the time
i be happy all the time
i be cute a lot
i be having nothing to do
playing with my puppy i be
eating popcorn on the couch i be
Wingate all the time. i be
school i be all the fun times
i be loving my family i be
i be happy because the world makes
me and i be
Bernice Caldwell, Grade 7 Charles Hart Middle School
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mURDERERS’ ROW
To some, this might sound
like a death sentence
To be served at san Quentin.
But to die-hard baseball fans,
This has a totally different meaning.
Babe and lou headed
This formidable gang,
and they served their sentence
in the Big House
Called yankee stadium.
The year was 1927.
and the victim of these
murderers was that poor, round
Fellow with red stitching
On his white, leather exterior:
The orb called “Fastball”.
Those murderers kept knocking
“mr. Fastball” right out of
That “House that ruth Built”.
They were merciless.
Aaron Landy, Grade 8 Parkmont School
my WINTER EXPERIENCE
The days are being broken
each one getting shorter
i hesitate to go outside
Below 30 degrees it is
i look on the faces of children
Outside freezing
Their faces are ivory
Just like the snow
Coming inside to taste
The bittersweet tea
The warmth sends comfort
all through your bones
DarVel Suggs, Grade 8 Charles Hart Middle School
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LADyBUG
a ladybug
Dressed in her black and red dress
Dances under the afternoon sun
sweeping her dress to and fro
side to side
Up and down
Then the sun sets
she stops dancing
Holds her dress still
and waits for another bright afternoon
Ava Reuss, Grade 6 Horace Mann Elementary School
DARKNESS
a piercing bullet of death on my doorstep,
Creeping like a lonely worm,
stalking me looking me dead in the eye
running from a silent fear, and approaching my doorstep
Dreaming of a lifeless thought as my heart starts running,
running like the wind
Until i stop at a seeming less door
and it says check your heart
Check my heart i repeat what kind of madness is this
as i look down a dull hole piercing through my heart
silence creeps into my soul and crushes my life
as i appear back onto my doorstep a blackout occurs
no light as the piercing bullet attacks my shoulder
left with no other thought than waiting for the morrow.
Kweku Sumbry, Grade 6 Howard University Middle School of Mathematics and Science
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TODAy
Birds twittered, sharing bits of gossip.
Do i want to join?
no, let them chitchat.
Dark clouds part just a crack for the true blue to show.
Do i hope it will be a non-cloudy day?
no. it can’t.
school looms up in front of me.
am i ready for school?
yes.
Melissa Q. Wood, Grade 6 Horace Mann Elementary School
POETIC AUTOBIOGRAPHy
and even though i remember
the slurred, soothing words
of my mother while
she bathed me,
i failed to
understand the fact
that she had an
addiction to a thing
she called grey goose,
the thing that made
her feel good
when no one else
was there to
put the broken pieces together,
and when her bottle
was emptied of her
sinful concoction
i was there to
accept her for her,
and give her
the love she
had sought from
the lover that
only corrupted her,
but your biographers
never understand.
Shawntay Kent, Grade 8 Charles Hart Middle School
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UPSIDE DOWN
as he stood there upside down in his thoughts
He had a rather big frown that could scare off a town.
He was a child who rarely smiled to the world or one another.
He would stay there for a while
as everyone stood a mile away from the boy who wouldn’t
smile.
it was almost like beauty and the beast,
but where was the beauty?
He stood there not even moving a hair on his long cold arms.
all anyone could do was just sit there and stare
like a fox hunting down a hare.
it was like one big wall in front of them all
That wouldn’t let anyone in at all.
But then there it came bashing through the wall
making that wall look very small --
an ice cream truck.
as the boy pulled out a buck
He carefully snuck
One big smile
That would definitely last a while.
Christian Burke, Grade 7 Parkmont School
FROm ONE TO ANOTHER
my father’s eyes would define mine
like a silent voice yelling in your
indescribable thoughts.
my prayers are as similar as my
mom’s gift to god.
like the son of an unloving dad, praying
for his dad to return.
my thankfulness is what my dad and
mom combine.
like the sourness a lemon brings
but can return with sweetness and
lusciousness of lemonade.
Kirk Murphy, Grade 8 Charles Hart Middle School
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HAPPy NEW yEAR
i crawl into the new year
expecting a change
But not really seeing a difference
i can already see the clouds rolling in
struggle hits me like lightning
Burning my shyness and bringing with it
a rain of agony
last year was just as bad
maybe a bit calmer, but still the usual
Thunderstorm of pain
Flashes of confusion
Thoughts, questions come storming in
How can a heart beat if it’s broken?
That year i thought i went flying into it
This year i peeked in on the cold months
and went crashing down
The year just started
already i’m trapped by guilt
Burning a hole in my mind
How long shall i be trapped?
i’ll wait until it passes, just like every year
Nichell Kee, Grade 10 Ballou Senior High School
RANDOm
Three red robins, one blue jay
flying down the street
as i see them fly
i see the trees, i see deer and wolves
i walk down the road and
i see the church with a cross on top
and when i look up
i see the lions playing in the sky,
the rectangle-shaped casket
Of all my dead poems
Khalil Jones, Grade 6 Charles Hart Middle School
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FLOWER POEm ABOUT PINK
Pink is called the flower
But the flower is not pink
The pink is on me
On my dress
my wedding dress
With the lace falling down
Down on my back
Down to the floor
But when you look
in my hair
There
it is the flower called pink
The pink is on me
On my wedding dress
right there
never wear that dress
Dasha Bell, Grade 9 Parkmont School
LOST
in dusty corners
i have nice conversations
about brown foxes
who leave their glossy fur on the dining room table
and lead us from our houses
to the scarecrows
we are supposed to destroy
but i still like their button eyes
and their tanned hats
they can sit and talk
if you wait for them to climb down off their poles
but it’s been a while since
i’ve visited the forest in the kitchen
or the meadow in the bedroom
and the burglar ghosts that wander over the floors
don’t hum at daybreak anymore
only in the pitch dark
when it could just be the sounds of
the night falling asleep
Antonia Madian, Grade 11 Maret School
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I Am
i am capable
of accomplishing
all my goals,
i am
killing souls
with blank
words,
tarnishing
promiscuous dreams.
my gaze is
slowly observing
an endless soul
tearing away
from an unkempt
body.
i believe in
conquering homelands,
tranquility overflowing,
souls and spiral windows.
Monae Smith, Grade 10 Hospitality Public Charter School
UNFORGETTABLE
The sky becomes obscene,
Fading to a sudden green,
Hearts get heavy, along with their breath,
Bodies shiver, but they keep it to themselves,
visible air strives for attention,
and chills deserve an honorable mention,
Feet sing an unforgettable but all-the-same tune,
“Don’t forget to buy boots for me soon,”
Thin jackets fade, replaced by something insulated
Or is it coats that are fabricated?
something i really haven’t debated
Unlikely tunes start to sound
like “silent night” and “santa’s Coming to Town”
The endings of our summers of discontent
This winter, the snow shows new moments well spent.
Sequan Wilson, Grade 10Ballou Senior High School
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Pain hangs limp in the air, waving white
linen square upon pole, so strong, so firm.
slightly aroused, i wake to know that it
is different from most, but similar in form.
Chuckles he, knowing my surprise.
i betray naivete, as i fly on a silver sail.
nay, not happy, not i!
i wish ‘twould be apropos to love sans label,
but we seem to lose ourselves without...
i don’t think i was ever found.
sailing upon that sea,
One of confusion and mass disarray,
i know as i look into his pools of
verdant sight,
He could be just what
i need.
Colin Clarke, Grade 10Parkmont School
CONFUSION WITHIN
you’d have thought i’d seen it coming,
What’d happened and all...
i’d never seen it coming, not from a mile off.
my thoughts cloudy and nebulous, so thick, so firm,
slightly aroused, greatly embarrassed, i try to pass it off ...
But it doesn’t work.
He looks me sternly in the eye, sharp and focused,
like a picture of a stream.
He knows what i’m thinking, but if he cares he doesn’t tell. i
knew it would come out into the open, laid bare, stripped
raw.
i was afrraid, Fear, the very parasite keeping me from
bloom...
He held the knife, proverbially,
sharp and ragged against my heart,
Don’t break it, please.
it’s comical, the look in his eyes,
Oh, his eyes, green with a hint of hazel,
i find myself absorbed in them, unaware of lurking danger,
i know i will find more trouble just
waiting to be unleashed,
the Pandora’s box that is my soul...
keeping a secret that costs by day, i try to tell, but
i tell the wrong people. The shades of deceit only now
clear themselves from my midst...
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SWImmING IN THE RAIN
There are no sounds
Time does not exist
as i slowly glide through the clear water
approaching the surface
Time begins again
and with a deep breath
The sounds of life outside return
The pouring rain smells like a cold morning
as it hits the water and sounds like steam
Until i go under once more
and time and sound disappear
into the world outside
Where i left them
Gabriela Farina, Grade 12The Lab School of Washington
I Am NOT FOR SCHOOL
long lessons trying to stay
awake day dreams
forever etched in my head
thinking of the fun i had
the day before
party it was great
but my shadow looks so cool
a creation of the sun
my half-baked brain
can’t process fast enough
i’m not for school
the bell has wings when it rings
i guess i’m done.
Damon Kee, Grade 11 Ballou Senior High School
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through each other.
Their fantasies,
their temptations. Their desires,
their secrets.
The lamp dims
as a boy discovers
how naughty he can be;
leaving his Christian
values on the floor
next to tight boxer briefs
and brown leather shoes.
But from the street,
the house sits up on a hill,
tucked behind the pine trees
and the pond.
The boys make it seem so easy,
so instinctive.
The smell of sin, full pleasure,
begs for winter to hide
in the closet of spring.
Jonathan Korns, Grade 10 Georgetown Day School
THE GREEN HOUSE
On the corner,
the green house
looks down
from its perch,
at the pond
the pine trees
the big boulder
and the fork
in the road
that the house
is stuck between.
at night the house
shines with each flicker
of the street
lamp as it buzzes
and hisses
and tells the world
the days are getting
shorter.
and at the house
the only light
glows from the lantern
in the room above the garage
where young men go
to explore the world
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THE TImE IS RIGHT TO mAKE
The world is a better place for
kids also adults to live better
all the colorblind people could see
bright as day
The time is right to
care for people who are disabled
and not laugh. Toss up the hating
and become happy.
The moon speaks louder than the sun
my heart beats more than it’s
supposed to when i see someone in
stress. i always try to give an extra hand.
The time is right to
warm the frostbitten fingers
from cold snow. i plant my seeds
into the clouds above to make me a
better person.
Renita Williams, Grade 11 Ballou Senior High School
LEmON yELLOW PASSION FLOWER
lovely beyond light
yellow passionflower love
measures its own truth
Lesa Lee, Grade 10Parkmont School
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SLEEVELESS ImAGINATION
Falling of the leaves
Frostbite of words
Defrosting of an empty mind
Bitter blackened
Footprints
engraved beneath the soggy foundation
Heartburn erupting
internal hail
mixture of emotion
Temperature changes
adjusting to the hypothermia
Of a hand losing feeling
spite inside an abandoned house
The hinges behind a frozen door
lost in thought, broken emptiness
Boneless structure
Defines the atmosphere
Of a chill sneaking into the anger
Decay, fire beyond unreasonable
Caressing the invisible flakes
no longer in original form
mERRy-GO-ROUND
as i watch the merry-Go-round
i see a child in blue.
The horse he rides bobs up and down,
His mother bobbing too.
and in the air, a cheery sound,
accompanies the view.
The joy he finds in leaving ground
insults the morning dew.
as i ride the merry-Go-round
i watch the swans’ quick race.
The aged canal appears to drown
and cannot keep their pace.
i lose them while i spin around,
and long to see their grace,
But very soon they will be found
For circles move in place.
as night shuts down the carousel
The world returns to me.
There is no ringing of the bell,
and no more jubilee.
it is my time to go as well.
But leaving annecy,
i hear my footsteps on the ground;
sweet earthly rhapsody.
Duncan Taylor, Grade 11 St. Alban’s School
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THE RUBBERBAND ON my WRIST (BATTLE THE NINJAS)
i’m walking
Out of my house
Through the dead-end street of my city
it’s cold outside
But my hands and feet are burning
i walked past the parking lot
Where i got into my first fight
Past the ball court
where i perfected my 3-pointer
scraped my knee when i finally touched the rim
spud Webb has nothing on me.
Churches, fast food, and high gas prices
my neighborhood has become separated by street signs
i walk past the criminals and lowlifes
and wonder why they do what they do
and why i’m not doing the same
my words have become my weapons
To battle the ninjas of my city
This rubberband on my wrist
Helps me to never forget where i come from
Damn, ran out of film
Whoo, i’m tired of walking
i’m going home.
Jeremiah Quarles, Grade 12 Parkmont School
Pale
Chapped lips
Fingertips numb
shivering among the sudden transactions
Wind watering the naked eye
Warmth under the extra clothing
Winter freezes a summer mind
Collapsing warm thoughts, destroying crimson love
Kiana Murphy, Grade 10Friendship Public Charter School
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HIS SON
Well, i wish that my father was living right now
because i really miss him very much
but when he had passed away i was mad because
he was the only person that really cared about me
because he always had love for me and i
had love for him
and he really looked out after me
so i would not get lost and
i love him
because of the things that he did for me
and he once said that if he dies or leaves my side
he would pass down his favorite things in the world
and he gave me a shirt
and he called it the shirt of forgiveness
and he also gave me a ring that he loved
and always wore
and he called it the ring of love and happiness
and he gave those two items to me to keep if he passed
but he also said that the shirt and the ring
represent you and me
and my father said that he would hate to lose me
because i was his one and also only caring, loving son.
Marcus Barnes, Grade 11Ballou Senior High School
AUTUmN
leaves are changing
Brown and green leaves
Change
To red, orange and yellow
The air
Gets colder
leaves fall
s
W
i
F
T
l
y
To the crisp
and cracked ground
Waking up is hard
The sky is
Gray and motionless
On the earth
even at night the cold is upon us
and the leaves are changing
Olivia Patch, Grade 9 The Lab School of Washington
ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 9, 200942 ParkmOnT POeTry FesTival, mAy 9, 2009 43
TO RECIPROCATE LOVE
i sit with the two.
To all but a few,
it’s perfectly fair.
a natural pair.
a boy and a girl.
Thoughts start to unfurl.
They start to kiss.
To them, it’s bliss, a gem.
To me, you see,
it’s silent pain.
Outside,
in the rain,
For my pride,
Falls the shame of God.
The boy --
He’s cute enough to make hearts race
and sweet enough
To make one weak,
With gentle face,
With sanguine cheek,
With hair like sweetly dirt-smudged gold.
His eyes, they hold a soft, sapphiric blue.
He’s British, too,
and tall,
and ... neither help at all.
REVELATION
impulse:
Trace the clouds
as they roll across
The descending, imposing sky.
impulse:
Declare the dead
trees a symbolic accent
to the world, but walk into them.
rhythm:
stand by the
Cobalt sea as it
extends and retreats.
impulse:
Dive into temptation
and ignore the consequences
Because you know you want to...
David Heath, Grade 10Parkmont School
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He’d not introduce me,
Despite my blissful glee,
To his sweetheart, to a friend.
His reputation
He’d defend
against my inclination
To the end.
His head is tucked beneath her chin.
They’re babes without a bit of sin.
Her hands are woven in his hair.
The sight is just too much to bear.
in perfect bliss, they’re both asleep.
They don’t know the luck they keep.
But every time their kiss i hear,
and crane my neck to shed a tear,
looking up with sense of fate,
To God i’ll say,
“But it’s okay.
you’re being bad.
no, i’m not mad.
it’s fine.... i’ll wait.”
Sebastian Swain, Grade 11The Lab School of Washington
We talked of seneca and stoicism,
Freud and Jung’s disturbed electra,
evil’s nature and the Borgias over wine;
any life without the two of us together --
mornings by each other’s side
When push comes to shove,
Whenever one cried,
To reciprocate love --
would just be hopelessly malign.
i’d learn how to cook him meals,
stand by him as much as i could
With all the things for which he feels.
We would live the life
it now occurred to me we should.
He mutters, “What a fag,”
Quite devoid of any rage
as my hopes begin to sag --
lovely skin succumbed to age.
a girly thing had passed the screen --
He had no qualm with it before,
He hadn’t changed since then, i know --
He didn’t try to be so mean...
He was like a puppy dog,
Too sweet to know the pain --
Beneath the pleasant mood i feign --
Of his own bite,
His playful fight,
in a field of happy fog.
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ANATOmy AND mUSIC
it started with frogs
Brown, slippery skin, cool and
Compliant, limbs pinned to the
Dissection tray, splayed and
respectfully crucified. inside,
miracles of color --
Blue veins and pink organs, a heart
That beat its last few
notes not long ago,
Decrescendo and rallentando,
For science. an etude, yes,
But only a prelude
To the fetal pig, a galaxy
of new parts and possibilities,
an unexplored world
Through which i moved
adagio, appassionato
as i found his lungs and liver,
spleen, pancreas and gallbladder,
Delicato, i uncovered the layers
and mapped his parts
Discovering all his secrets,
a medley of similarities
To me. am i nothing
more. i, too, detest prodding.
THE TRUE DEFINITION OF A mAN
i was told the true definition of
a man was never cry, work till
you die, got to provide,
always be the rock for my family
and protect them by all means;
a poem gives me the chance to
express what i want, i see
about what a man’s to be,
but i know a true man should
be able to express his feelings mentally,
and i don’t see anything wrong
with men showing feelings physically.
a poem helps me get over break-ups
and sorrow,
also brings me hope when i
dread tomorrow.
Steven Reed, Grade 11 Ballou Senior High School
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ACKNOWLEDGmENTSThe Parkmont Poetry Festival extends sincere thanks to our 2008 judges:
Jennifer Pierson (Finalist Judge) has been teaching poetry at
american University since 1996, and is the Poet-in-residence
at iOna services. For years she was a Human rights advocate
for persons with disabilities in virginia. Her collection,
Taibhse: a Gaelic apparition, won the first editors’ Prize in
2000 from nimrOD inTernaTiOnal. Other awards include
those from Half Tones To Jubliee and southern review. Her
poems, reviews and stories are in numerous journals and
anthologies (including The Party Train) and on Doonesbury’s
website, “The sandbox.” Two other book-length works are
sin eaters, which explores the notion of the scapegoat in
lynchings and the community at salem during the witch
trials, and Dispatches from the (war) Hospital, on her work
with wounded soldiers from iraq and afghanistan.
Laurie Stroblas has taught creative writing to young people
at several DC schools, smithsonian museums and The
Writers’ Center. she has been awarded a mayor’s arts award
and the larry neal Writers award for Poetry, as well as several
arts education and writing grants from the DC Commission
on the arts and Humanities. a former fellow in arts education
at the national endowment for the arts, laurie founded and
directed the District lines Poetry Project that brought poems
by local young and adult writers to metro muse posters on
metrobuses, metro trains, train platforms and bus shelters
(from 1994 to 2002). you can find some of her recent poems
in the fall/winter 2008 issue of Poet lore and the anthology
stories of illness and Healing.
Reuben Jackson has worked as an archivist with the
smithsonian institution’s Duke ellington Collection. His
poems have been published in 21 anthologies, journals
Graduating to a cat brain
there was less color, more texture
each part responsible for
so much: this, the love of meat
and this, the fear of dogs and
vacuum cleaners and children
With clothes pins.
a symphony of messages
Preprogrammed, a refrain
Familiar before experience.
it’s not enough
Of an explanation.
The pieces that compose
The whole, the measures
That become a movement
adding up to a sonata or
a life, dissected and charted
and labeled, and put together
it can eventually
Walk and talk and even
Think, and better yet
sing. and i sing.
Cole Feinberg, Grade 12 National Cathedral School
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PARKmONT SCHOOL
Parkmont is a small private school serving middle school
students in grades 6-8 and upper school students in grades
9-12. an educational community that fosters individual
growth and enthusiasm for learning, Parkmont believes
that there is nothing more basic to the development of a
person than a positive sense of self-esteem. This respect
for the creative energies and contributions of young people
is the driving force behind the Poetry Festival and many
other school activities. Parkmont’s internship program puts
students in offices, shops and organizations around the city
to learn practical work skills. at school, students participate
in all-school meetings that focus on ethical and practical
problems confronting their community and engage in a
vibrant, hands-on curriculum. Parkmont helps students
to discover their talents and values. The Poetry Festival
encourages students to give voice to their dreams
and concerns.
if you would like to show your support for the Parkmont
Poetry Festival by making a tax-deductible contribution in
any amount, please send a check payable to Parkmont school
Poetry Festival to this address:
PARKMONT SCHOOL4842 16th Street, NW • Washington, DC 20011202.726.0740
such as Chelsea, Gargoyle, Callaloo and The Indiana Review, and
a volume of verse entitled fingering the keys, which won the
1992 Columbia Book award. reuben has also written music
reviews for The Washington Post, Washington City Paper, Jazz Times
and Jazziz magazines, and for national Public radio’s “all
Things Considered.” reuben’s “haiku” was set to music by the
late saxophonist steve lacy. He is a poetry instructor at The
Writer’s Center in Bethesda, maryland.
We are deeply grateful to the following donors for their
support of the 2008 Parkmont Poetry Festival:
The Jamieson Trust; and Mrs. Lois Nistico.
an additional debt of thanks goes to Ron McClain, Head
of Parkmont school and Founder of the Parkmont Poetry
Festival; Kim Schraf, Coordinator of the Parkmont Poetry
Festival; Judy Lentz, tireless supporter and 25-year Festival
Coordinator; and Sharan Strange, Festival master of
Ceremonies. sharan is the author of ash, a collection
of poems.
Finally, we wish to thank our 2008 design team:
Booklet layout and printing by Mackie Marquez-Lopez at
SEIU; poster design by Auras Design; and tee-shirt design by
Rachel Schmidt.
9251.100hML5.1.9
parkmont poetry festivalPoems by District of Columbia Students
Grades 6-12
SPONSORED BY PARKMONT SCHOOL, MAY 9, 2009